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Hello fellow Whovians!

I have been reminded that Will Chandler a) existed and b) was considered to have had potential to be a new companion from the Doctor Who story ‘The Awakening’. He wasn’t used but he would have been like a younger Jamie for the 5th Doctor, a character from the past for whom technology and space travel is a completely new concept. The Doctor had a really lovely manner with him in the story and I can see how it could have worked with Will as part of team Tardis. Oh well, I thought, that’s what fanfic is for.

Turns out there is nothing on AO3, FF.net or even Teaspoon for him and I feel that is a shame so I have concocted this piece to remedy that.

I loved Will as kid, he was sweet and funny and scared and lost but still did the brave things when it counted. He was a boy from the 17th century who accidentally ends up falling through a crack in time and crossing into 1984 in the midst of the Civil War and devils afoot in the village of Little Hodcombe.

It’s a proper British folk horror story with the supernatural element swapped for Sci Fi and it’s pretty good.

I re-watched the story here and I couldn’t help but think, given what’s said about his own time, the lack of mention of any family he wants to get back to or is worried about and the state of his village post-civil war that it would be pretty sad to return him to 1643 if he wanted to stay in the present. So, I had a go at re-writing the Awakening from (mostly) his perspective and what happens afterwards. I’m now old enough to be his mother (I’d have been a young mum but still!) and I couldn’t help but want better for him!

Honestly, it’s been a nice break from my writers block on my other works and I thought I’d share if anyone else had seen this story!

On Ao3 here

One Summer’s Day-Chapter 1

Will knew danger when he heard it. He also knew well enough how to hide when he needed to. The roundheads were coming, he knew they were, he’d heard the shouts, the horses hooves and the unstoppable march.

Why did they have to come to his home? His village?

They didn’t bother no one, kings and parliament meant nothing to those of Little Hodcombe. Sir Hutchinson maybe but not the villagers. They paid their tithes, farmed the land and minded the animals. He wanted to become a stone mason, orphaned as he was it was harder to have someone take him on without apprenticeship fee but he was working on that. He’d be grown and a skilled man one day, enough that he’d be man of his own house. Built by his own hands. Better than the poor labourer his father had been god rest him.

Right now though, thoughts of the future had to wait.

He had to survive the next few hours.

The village had gone mad and the soldiers were coming.

Terror coursed through him, there was no steady pace to the oncoming catastrophe. They were running, charging as they fought.

That falling star. The old story passed down father to son. The priest, before he died at Candlemas, said it was an ill omen even with the prayers and goodness of the village. Will had believed him. He could feel it sometimes. A cold that had nothing to do with midwinter. The feel of things just being wrong, like a shoe not fitting when it should. Not much, but enough. And if the priest said it then he must be right, he had been clever, one of the few who could read in the village and he had read more than the bible. He knew about stars and history and old folk tales. He said it was bad, that it was a punishment from God for this war. That, Will did not agree with, why punish Little Hodcombe? They’d not asked for this. But it felt wrong all the same. Evil. Like he had heard on Sundays. There was something in the air, it tasted like lime smoke, burning and sharp. Something like that was no good for anyone.

Still, it was the church he’d run to when he’d heard the approach, it was holy ground, they couldn’t fight there.

The thunder of violence followed him.

In a panic Will remembered the priest hole, left over from the days more active persecution, hidden as a blocked-up chapel on the side of the church there was enough of gap to squeeze through between the wall of the church proper and the decoy wall that was built in the ruin.

Most of the time he lamented his skinny frame, ‘like a rabbit you are boy.’ He could hear his father’s words. He’d tried hard to grow, worked day and night to become built like him but still he remained, small and thin. He had some strength to him mind. And right now, being like he was served him well.

Will scrambled into the secret hide hardly daring to breathe.

He stayed quiet, silently praying whilst the battle grew louder and louder.

Will scrunched himself up as small as possible, hands over his ears as the soldiers burst into the building, it was all he could do not to cry out but that would have been a death sentence. They were in the church! They were fighting! Here in the church itself! Maybe God would punish them after all.

He’d never heard such sounds before, even through the hands he’d pressed hard to his ears. There was no drowning out the sound of such frenzy. It was like they were tearing each other apart out there.

He tried to hold back the tears that had sprung forth unbidden. He didn’t want to die in this dark little hole, he might be sixteen and nearly full-grown, but right now he wanted his father very badly, to be a little lad again and held and told it would be alright.

Instead, a wind began to blow, soft at first. Enough to just ruffle his hair but it quickly grew in strength building to a howling gale, drowning out the screams and muskets and clash of swords. It was like a tempest tearing the terror from his lips as soon as it appeared.

Will screwed his eyes tightly shut and tried to recite the Lord’s prayer.

A light was building, bright enough that he knew it even with his eyes closed.

He didn’t want to see. He didn’t, truly.

But there was no stopping it.

Try as he might his eyes slowly opened.

The sight he beheld would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Deep in the heart of raging tempest, swirling musket smoke and blood Will Chandler saw the face of the devil.

The stories were true. The Malus had come and it would be death for all.

One more horrified scream joined the cacophony and he knew no more.

&&&

Will came-to in deafening silence.

At first, he just lay where he was, trying to breathe quietly and work out if it was safe to move. He’d fallen backwards from where he’d scrunched himself up and was now half on his back, half on his side curled up with hands still over his ears.

Everything hurt.

It was dark still too.

Will hated the dark. It was cold and lonely. And now it was filled with visions of Malus, staring at him with those awful eyes and rictus grin that held no mirth. Laughing at him, laughing at the slaughter and at his terror of the carnage.

He had to get out.

It all sounded quiet now anyway.

He pushed with his feet towards the entrance, only to hit stone.

Panic surged in him, some of the church must have come down when Malus came, he was trapped, there was only one way in or out.

Blood began to pound in his ears as the need to break free of the dark flooded his chest. Over the din of his own fear, he managed to hear a voice calling, it didn’t sound familiar but it didn’t sound angry neither. Sounded like they were looking for someone. Maybe it was him! Maybe someone had missed him and sent someone to look.

It was unlikely but Will used that hope to fuel his escape attempt. He knew the walls weren’t the strongest, the priest hole was part of what had been the lady chapel according to stories the old folk told, before king Henry changed the churches. It had been blocked up but not well, the villagers had liked the chapel and hoped the change would only be a passing fancy.

As it was, the change had stuck but the wall was thin, not the solid stone demanded at the time. With a bit of force Will could break his way out, he had to.

He struggled to his feet, shoving the fallen timber and loose chunks of heavy plaster and bits of masonry off himself. Once he was up there wasn’t room to brace his shoulder properly but his hands were free enough and he was desperate enough to beat his way through, elbow, knuckle and palm. After a few goes he felt the wall start to give, renewed with hope at seeing the trickle of daylight he fight harder, smashing his way through, regardless of the pain it caused.

He had to get out.

Get to the voice, he told himself, maybe he’d not heard right through all the stone and it was Thomas come looking for him.

The second the gap was big enough he wriggled his way through.

“What took thee so’ long? I bin in thur for ages—”

Will caught sight of the figure of the in front of him, someone he’d never seen before in his life. Must be a gentleman given the clothes. Cream coloured coat and trousers the likes of which Will had never seen before. He froze.

“Who are you?” The strangely dressed man asked. He was tall, much taller than Will in clothes so finely woven made it the boy pause. He even had some greenery pinned to the jacket. Maybe he was a fairy gentleman? He’d not really believed the old stories told on a dark night but he still didn’t walk into a circle of mushrooms that was growing in any of the fields.

Without waiting for an answer he offered his hand, “I’m the Doctor, pleased to meet you.”

That shook him to his senses, what sort of a name was that?! All fear of the fey dropped when distracted with such an odd name. The fey were supposed to be regal. This man just seemed friendly.

The words escaped him before he could help it, “Doctor b’aint a proper name, Will Chandler be a proper name.” he added proudly.

The man moved to close in on him in response.

Will’s survival instinct kicked in, the man, this Doctor, fey or not, could be anyone, there was a war happening and he was a lot bigger than Will. Fear coursed through him as he leapt backwards, grabbing a piece of fallen masonry in his aching right hand to try and defend himself. His back was against the wall but he had to try.

He brandished it at the Doctor, who’d stopped in his tracks.

“I won’t let ‘ee!” He cried determined to try and protect himself, staving off this new threat, not sure what the stranger intended but wasn’t fool enough to think it was anything good. He’d heard the cries in the church. They still rang in his ears.

The pain lanced through his already bruised hand. He bit back a whimper and the urge to drop the stone as his eyes darted back the way he came but there was no escape there.

“I won’t hurt you.” The Doctor raised his hands in a mollifying gesture.

He looked back to the man who’d not moved any closer. It might be Will being fanciful he thought but he looked kind. His voice sounded warm enough. Maybe he was friendly.

The words blurted out of their own accord, “My hand’s ‘urting.” And it was, aching like nobody’s business, the wall hadn’t broken without a fight after all. This time he did drop the stone, and tried to rub his hand better, tucking it up against his chest.

“Show me.” The voice was laced with concern.

Will complied without really thinking too hard. He was sore and scared and this man could have attacked him if he wanted. He was big enough and he certainly looked strong enough. But he did look kind. And he said he was a doctor. He wanted to believe he was safe.

Warm hands engulfed his, the Doctor gently examining the damage before pushing up his frayed sleeve to see if there was anything else wrong further up his arm.

Will was surprised to feel comforted by that, it already started to feel a bit better. He hadn’t cut it so it wasn’t too bad but it felt like the man knew what he was doing. And he hadn’t tried to bargain with him for help. Not a fairy then. Good.

“What were you doing in there?”

Will thought that was obvious, “it’s a priest hole innit?” Then realised he probably should explain more given the look on the Doctor’s face, “I hid from fighting.” He admitted. He wasn’t ashamed of having hidden. He had no part to play in the war, he didn’t care who was in charge of England. Rich folk didn’t care about the likes of him or the rest of the villagers so why should he get involved? Especially after what had happened on the green that morning. He was far more concerned about the harvest and whether he’d be able to get shearing work in the next two weeks.

“What fighting?”

That startled him, this man looked learned and yet he was asking Will something a gentleman like that should surely know. He couldn’t help the grin spread across his face, he drew back, feeling a little pleased to know something the other didn’t. “What fighting? Ere, where you bin ‘en?”

The Doctor didn’t seem to mind the mocking tone but asked another question, “What year is it?”

He knew that one! He did! If he could just remember, the words tumbled out quickly, “I knows that one! The year is sixteen hundred,” what was the last bit again? “an, an forty three!” He moved himself around to sit down in one of the ruined pews, pleased with himself but now acutely aware how much his hand was still hurting.

He heard the Doctor murmur to himself, repeating the date.

“Has the battle gone?”

“Yes, yes all done now.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, “Good.” He hoped that would be the end of it, once his hand stopped hurting so badly he’d check the village, see if everyone was alright, if they’s had calmed down after what happened at the green. The soldiers would take their fighting away from it surely. Battles were supposed to be in fields not churches. A thought struck him, was it was supposed to be in the field? But Malus drew them in? Making them fight harder, make em worse, so bad that that they didn’t care they wus in a church. Priest had had a big word for that, des, dese, desecration! That was it. A shiver ran down Will’s spine. If theys didn’t care they were doing that then maybe they wouldn’t care where else they fought.

He considered the other man with hope, maybe the Doctor could help him.

He was just resolving to ask when the door to the church flew open. He was already ducked down behind the pew, convinced there were more soldiers coming.

Peeping over the edge of the pew he found they weren’t soldiers but they were the strangest people he’d ever laid eyes on. The red-headed young man was pale, thin and delicate-looking, like he’d never done a day’s work in his life. The woman next to him, well, he’d never seen a woman look like that before. Short, uncovered hair, a shapeless garment that looked like a finely woven, brightly-patterned sack. And he could see her legs! Uncovered to above her knees! They must be from London. He’d heard tell of the fancy folk there doing as they pleased. Given what the Doctor wore that must be the case. Well, it was none of his business and she was obviously a high-born lady so he was not to pry or stare.

The red-headed man noticed him first.

He found himself shrinking away from such an intense gaze.

“Who is that?” He asked, like Will was some sort of stain on his fancy white shirt.

The Doctor introduced him quickly.

“Will Chandler”

“Sir,” he nodded not sure what else to do.

The Doctor said they’d talk about it and he came to sit on the pew next to him but they talked too fast and fancy for Will to keep up. Too many words he didn’t know. He was worried about the village and couldn’t shake the ache from his bones, he liked the sounds of their voices though even if he didn’t really understand what was being said.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him now his heart wasn’t beating like a rabbit’s. He was safe with these people, knew it in his soul. Without thinking about it he curled into the side of pew and let his eyes close.

***

The Doctor had not expected an escapee from apparently the 17th century to bash his way through the wall of the church, but stranger things had happened after all. To be honest though, he’d not expected anything of this nature to occur when agreeing to take Tegan to the village of Little Hodcome in 1984 to visit her grandfather Andrew Verney.

The village was apparently in the middle of some English Civil War re-enactment to commemorate the time that conflict destroyed the village. The English were rather odd with their customs it must be said. But even allowing for English eccentricity this was decidedly odd. Sir George Hutchinson was clearly the leader of this village-wide endeavour and was a little too into the part of playing head royalist. Historically that didn’t go well but right now, the village seemed a little too dedicated to authenticity. The Doctor didn’t like Sir George’s manner, he hoped it was just down to getting a bit carried away rather than the megalomania that seemed to lurk beneath the surface of so many men he came across. Time would tell.

That and he had had flintlock pistol pointed at him when he tried to follow Tegan and Turlough out of the impressive replica 1600s study and manor house that they’d been brought too when rounded up by armed and armoured horsemen outside of the church’s crypt that the Tardis had landed in. Tegan clearly had a right be worried about her missing grandfather that no one else seemed too upset about apart from Jane Hampden, the local school teacher apparently, who was still dressed for 1984 and seemed rather exasperated by the whole thing. Nice to see a sensible person around at least.

But Tegan getting upset and running with Turlough chasing after had led the Doctor to this derelict church hunting for the pair of them and apparently finding instead someone very out of time.

It rather made things a little more complicated, but things were certainly not right within Little Hodcombe, between Sir George’s ‘War Games’ that sounded a little too realistic, with soldiers apparently far too eager to take prisoners rather than ask politely their business, the fact that Tegan’s grandfather was missing, and now Will appearing from allegedly 1643. No, there was definitely something connecting it all, it couldn’t be a coincidence. Jane at the manor house where they’d met Sir George seemed to think there was something very wrong too.

He was deeply pleased his young friends had found him rather quickly, appraising the oddness of Will’s appearance and the crack in the church wall that hadn’t been there when they first explored the church having arrived by Tardis in the crypt. Ominous indeed.

They’d been talking about the strange limping man who certainly didn’t look like he belonged to 1984 whatsoever, dressed up or no. He’d stolen Tegan’s bag, managed to knock the Doctor over in his haste but still made it an inhuman distance up the lane ahead of the timelord.

Turlough was right in his guess. Physical psychic projections would fit but they would take enormous power to generate, that had to be of an alien origin without a doubt, but where from, and why? Why here? What the purpose of having a blend of the 20th & 17th centuries and someone who could have easily fitted in anywhere along medieval timeline with his limp and facial skin condition.

And then there was Will.

He looked over to the boy who was impressively solid for a psychic projection. It was extraordinary attention to detail, Will was dressed in the style of country clothing of his era, shirt, breeches and a leather jerkin all of which had seen better years rather than days, all clearly worn and worked in. The Doctor found himself wondering if the lad had been rather on the edge of society in his own time.

Will himself was filthy dirty, covered with masonry grime, soot and dust, which matched up with his claims of hiding in a decrepit priest hole and then some. The Doctor wondered about whatever had projected him, they had gone to an astonishing amount of detail. He’d certainly felt real when the Doctor had examined his hand for him, partly to see to the damage and partly to check how real Will was. His hand was badly scraped and bruised with soft tissue damage, but nothing broken. It would heal up in a few days at least. He still seemed real enough, fallen asleep as he was tucked against the side of the pew, his breathing was just starting to even out, making the soft mumbling sounds of young ones when right on the edge of deep sleep. Probably the adrenaline crash. Hmm. Very real.

But benign as he’d pointed out to the others, no bag thieving from Will who seemed so far, friendly if very lost.

He definitely needed more answers, and he was going to need Will along to help him piece it together.

Still, there were armed soldiers riding about and he had no interest in adding any more sport to their war games, he’d rather take one person with him whom he could keep an eye on rather than have three young people running about like rabbits trying to avoid traps. He knew his companions. As much as he enjoyed their company they were as bad as he was at finding trouble.

No. This time it would be better to know they were safely in the Tardis whilst he took Will with him to find out what was happening under all the pageantry. Will might actually listen to him too. There was a novelty.

He made up his mind, to the village he and Will would go.

He lightly slapped the boy’s shoulder to rouse him, “Come on Will, you’re coming with me.”

“What about us?” Tegan demanded.

“You’ll be safer in the Tardis.” He was already heading towards the door, “and don’t argue!” If he moved fast enough Tegan couldn’t get a chance to complain within earshot. “Will!”

Will had woken at the Doctor’s first call, it took him a minute to remember where he was before he blearily made his way after the strange man, his own name ringing in his ears.

&&&

Once the Doctor had shown him how to trace the numbers, he could read them well enough and knew what they meant, didn’t mean he could believe it. 1850? And it looked old. According to the Doctor it was now the year nineteen hundred and eighty-four. Another, another,” he thought hard, he could work this out, he counted bales right enough, “hundred and, and thirty-four! Yes! Another hundred and thirty-four years from the old headstones. The elation drained as realisation dawned. And over three hundred years from his home. Well, time. They were still in his home village at least. It still made him feel small. He swallowed hard.

He ran over to another inscription, this time in the wall of the church not to read it but to try and compose himself away from the Doctor. He didn’t want to embarrass himself further by crying in front of the older man. He refused to let the tears fall. Refused to let them escape and betray how utterly terrified he was to find himself in the future away from everything he’d known. And by the sound of it, things were still wrong here.

It would be alright though. It had to be.

The Doctor seemed to be a man who could fix things.

He’d just pulled himself together when the Doctor called him over in a whisper. More soldiers. Will couldn’t resist a closer look, he’d hoped they were all long gone by now.

Next thing he knew he was being hauled backwards into the side door of the church. He was right, the Doctor was strong.

They hid in one the side chapels, the one with all the rich folk’s memorials. Will had always been rather interested in the carvings, he quite liked the fact that there were ways to remember how people looked after they died. He wished he’d been able to have something like that of his Dad. His mother too, at least he knew his father, his mother was a figure only from stories. It’s why he wanted to be a mason in the first place.

His mind began to wander as he took the opportunity to look closely at the effigy, he remembered it from when he was a little lad and took comfort in finding something familiar at least whilst they waited for the soldiers to go.

“Will come and look at this.”

He turned to see what the Doctor wanted, the man was staring at memorial in the ground. It took Will a moment to realise what it was from his position, crouched as he was. The knowledge felt like ice hitting his belly, he cringed away from it, letting out an unwilling whimper.

The older man was immediately concerned, “What’s the matter? Will?” The Doctor pressed gently, “What happened in 1643?”

Will tore his gaze from the horrible gauntness of the floor to fix frightened eyes on the timelord, “Troopers come,” he tried to deflect, hand tangled up in his hair betraying his nerves. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it, that it was real and it came and it was the devil.

“No, no, something else.” The older man insisted in the soft-firm way of his that demanded an answer.

He couldn’t lie to the Doctor, he probably knew anyway, Will had to say it, even if he didn’t want to, didn’t want it to be real, “Malus come,” came the defiant exclamation, if the Doctor wanted him to admit it then he would, out loud and clear. Suddenly it felt incredibly important to explain it all to this clever man, maybe he could make it go away. “Malus is a God o’war in’t ‘ee?” He didn’t wait for answer, rushing to explain his meaning, “Makes the fighting worse, makes them hate more!”

That felt like an ominous but probably quite astute take on the situation however, the Doctor couldn’t just accept that on face value, he needed to know, “Malus is just a superstition!” he insisted.

That got a rise out of the boy, “No!” Will cried, “No, I’ve seen Malus!” He had, he did, in that awful priest hole when he thought he was going to die. He wouldn’t make this up! This was real and terrible and those soldiers were killed in church because of it. He’d felt that evil, felt the rage and hate swirl in that tiny space. “I, I seen it.” He insisted, staring earnestly at the Doctor praying he’d listen.

The Doctor did believe him. There could be no mistaking that look. Whatever Will had seen had been very real to him, whatever the Malus was it was certainly there in 1643 and was probably now in the present. He had to know more.

The Doctor fixed the boy with a searching look, “Will, tell me what happened. How did it appear?”

Will found himself unable to refuse that voice, it was so expectant, like it wanted the answers from him and knew he knew them. As much as he didn’t want to talk about it, part of him wanted to tell the Doctor, share the experience, be believed and maybe it would get the awful noise out of his head and the horrible vision.

“Round’eads and Cavillers and they wus fightin’ in church. An’ then there wus a wind comin’, such a wind.” He remembered how it had started, a light breeze that quickly became a roaring gale straight out of the mouth of hell itself. “Then Malus, came from nowhere!” He glared at the Doctor, determined to explain the full horror of what he’d seen. Maybe he could help, stop it from hurting anyone else.

“What do you remember?” asked the Doctor gently, fully aware the boy was on the edge of reason. Will looked like a rabbit caught in a trap. His big brown eyes wide with remembered terror. The Doctor needed to get all the information he could to confirm his suspicion, but he had to proceed cautiously in case he tipped the boy over that edge. He’d clearly been through a lot in the last few hours and several centuries ago.

“Did it look like this?” He pointed to the carved face in the floor, voice deliberately gentle. He moved closer to the boy as horrified recognition swam in his eyes. His need for answers overrode his good judgement. He was so close to understanding an important part of the puzzle. “Did it look like this?” he pressed.

Will stared at it for a heartbeat.

“Yes!” He cried, scrabbling away from it, curling in on himself clearly trying very hard not to sob.

The Doctor immediately regretting pushing quite as hard as he did. He needed to know but at the expense of the continued terror of the boy? Well. There was something in Will’s eyes the Doctor had noticed. There was a swirl of something that didn’t look like it belonged. The boy had seen the face of the Malus, maybe it had tried to mark him. That would be another thing to consider.

Right now though, he tried to calm the trembling Will, “it’s alright, it’s alright.” He placated. He didn’t crowd the lad but tried to be soothing. It struck him again how young Will was, the way he could curl himself up when scared, the way he’d nervously fiddle with his hair. A stray thought pondered across his mind, he wondered if the boy had been rather forced to grow up a lot sooner than was usual, now faced with something so utterly and literally alien he had very little reserves of ways to cope. Hmm. Something else to muse on when he had time.

The Doctor considered, he wondered if Will had apparently been spared the violent influence of the Malus back in 1643 because he had no stake in either side, no one to direct that hate towards. The look of the eyes that held the swirl were innocent. Then again, it could have been simply that the boy, underneath initial reticence obviously had a kindly nature, quick to trust and befriend. That was always rocky ground for seeds of rage and hate to take root in.

He felt bad for pushing the boy, who’d scrabbled away from the image of the Malus in terror, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was vital information though, Malus was apparently very real, enough to terrify Will who’d witnessed it whilst it used civil war forces to destroy themselves and the church, and, he realised with a start, the entire village. This had to be a hostile alien force, drawing on emotions maybe? What had Will said? Made them hate more?

Hmm. He might not understand the whys but Will Chandler had certainly got to the heart of it all right. They must be a source of energy for whatever this was.

He cast his eyes over the carving once again. An idea struck him.

Very carefully he pressed down on the face on the Malus. A deep click seemed to resonate out of the stones. The tombstone rose revealing a secret passage. Well then.

He checked in on Will to see if he’d noticed.

The boy was clearly trying to pull himself together, breathing deeply and furiously rubbing his nose.

The Doctor felt a rush of paternal protectiveness that tended to appear around his younger travelling companions. Will really couldn’t have been more than sixteen at most. The Doctor had no intention of letting this Malus do any more damage if he could help it. He’d keep him close.

“Come on Will,”

Will swallowed hard, turning to face the Doctor after scrubbing his face vigorously. He eyed the steps into the darkness unhappily.

Will really didn’t want to follow a pathway into the dark hidden behind the face of the Malus but he didn’t want to be left alone either. The Doctor was best to stick by, he seemed like a good man, safe. And he seemed to be trying to stop whatever dark things were happening here. Better to be by his side than away from it reckoned.

With another nervous swallow Will reluctantly followed the timelord into the dark.

&&&

The Doctor told him to stay close, as if Will was going to go running off into the dark on his own! He was sticking by the Doctor’s side whether the gentleman wanted him there or not, he’d brought them down into this miserable passageway and he wasn’t going nowhere without him.

He was just starting to get used to the gloom when a familiar sound of footsteps was coming from ahead of them, the Doctor paused a moment whilst Will strained to hear. Something seemed to have alerted the older man, before Will could process he was being pulled towards a staircase, the Doctor diving under the space beneath the steps to hide. Will scrunched himself up small next to the timelord to hide from the incoming danger.

What he hadn’t been expecting was an older lady, clearly genteel with her fine tailoring, come carefully down the stairs obviously unused to the passage and trying to get away.

He scooted over to make room for her, hoping the soldiers passed them by.

&&&

Jane Hampden had no idea where the apparently secret passage went only that it was away from Sir George and his mad pageantry in the manor house. She inched her way down the stairs, trying to see in the gloom and unwilling to break an ankle by rushing. She was hoping she could avoid making too much noise, regretting her haste at leaving the hidden door open.

She hadn’t expected a tap on the shoulder.

Jane was deeply grateful that after twenty years of teaching she was pretty shock proof and didn’t audibly gasp.

The Doctor was drawing her over to hide under the stairs, she squeezed in gratefully, not spotting the grubby boy until she almost collided with him. She’d ask later. Right now, the soldiers were coming.

She held her breath and tried to control her rising anger as Sir George barked his orders like it was in fact 1643 and not 1984 where he was just the local councillor and magistrate for the village and surrounding area who actually had to listen to the will of the people. She’d always thought him a bit arrogant and self-important but now? She didn’t recognise him. It was like the very worst parts of his personality had been amplified to their worst possible conclusion. What she didn’t understand was why so many were going along with it, even Ben! Ben who was so sensible most of the time, just passionate about history. Now he was colonel Wolsey. Even Joseph, or sergeant Willow as he was called now, he’d never been like this. She’d taught him! Sure, he liked being on the ‘winning’ side of things more often than not, and could be a bit bullish but he was at his heart a decent, reasonable man. This enforcer role he’d taken on was very alien, and yet he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it. Jane had the sick feeling that it wasn’t just a re-enactment getting a bit too enthusiastic that was the cause of all this. Something interminably wrong.

The phrasing of Sir George made her blood run cold. ‘She won’t get far’ well hopefully she’d get very far indeed. Far enough to get to a phone to call the police to stop this nonsense. She couldn’t find a phone in Ben’s recreation room to try but that wasn’t surprising, it was supposed to be a total replica. No room for phones in 17th century England.

The Doctor’s explanation of the malleable metal they’d found in the passageway between the manor and the church was not reassuring. It was the squashy thing Sir George had been using like a stress ball in Ben’s replica study. What had he said? Tinclavic? From another world? What else did he say like it was the most normal thing for a Saturday afternoon? The planet Raga? What on earth or not on earth apparently had she stumbled in on? Jane wondered if it was some sort of summer madness, like the dancing plague. Maybe it did go some way to explaining Sir George’s nonsense though. Jane shook herself, she couldn’t just go along with this, she’d be no better than the others.

Now they were on their way to the church without the fear of running into Sir George’s men Jane took a moment to collect herself and drew both men to a halt, ostensibly to catch her breath as the light levels were beginning to grow. She was still reeling from all the talk of aliens and space, she needed just a few moments to collect herself, even if she was still holding on to the squashy tinclavic that was apparently from another planet.

“Well thank you for that timely intervention, Doctor and…” she trailed off, giving the grubby boy the once over now she could properly see him, he wouldn’t have looked out of place as an urchin in a Victorian street scene, except, well, his clothes looked older. 17th century if her memory served. Another one play acting in this madness? The grime was definitely a step too far, he looked like he’d slept in a ditch for a week. Then again, she didn’t recognise his face and she thought she knew everyone in the village, the ‘little’ part of the name was no coincidence.

She was still thinking this as the Doctor made introductions, “Ah yes, Jane meet Will, Will Chandler.” The boy was halfway through saying ‘Mistress’ with a bow when the schoolteacher interrupted.

“You’re not from the village!”

Will was indignant, “I am! Jus’,” he trailed off into uncertainty, eyeing the Doctor for support, “not from ‘ere, here.” Even to his ears that wasn’t a helpful explanation.

Jane slow blinked at the Doctor for help.

The timelord sighed, “Will has joined us from 1643. He is from Little Hodcombe, just not from the present Little Hodcombe.”

The schoolteacher opened her mouth to protest. Alien metals and other planets and now time travel?!

“I don’t knows the whys either.” Added Will with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She could see the fear under the attempt at humour, teacher senses never letting her down.

That gave her something to focus on, something real and tangible she could understand. Jane leaned in conspiratorially, she might not believe a word of this but she knew when a young person needed some reassurance, “We’ll work it out together then.” She promised with as much confidence as she could muster.

The genuine grin on the youth’s face this time was worth it, there was real relief there.

“Right then,” The Doctor looked like he had a terrible case of itchy feet, “now we’re all acquainted, back to the church, I rather have a theory I’d like to test.”

With that Doctor charged onwards, Jane and Will shared a helpless shrug and followed in his wake.

&&&

They reached the church in record time, the Doctor in full flow of explanation. Will had absolutely no idea what either one of them was saying. Words like ‘space’ ‘Harkol’ and ‘Terrileptil’ meant nothing to him but they were clearly talking about where Malus come from. It had come from the sky, he knew that, come from the falling star like the story said. He was about to try and explain when the Doctor mentioned Malus by name. He couldn’t help jumping in, telling the learned lady that he’d seen it. Really and truly seen it in all it’s horror. She didn’t seem to want to believe the Doctor but the Doctor was the only one he’d met who’d taken him seriously and seemed to understand the threat the Malus posed.

“Yes, I’m sorry for ever having doubted you Will.” The Doctor clapped the boy on back in a gesture of comradeship. The boy beamed.

It was nice to be apologised to, as well. It didn’t happen often, if ever. Will found himself standing a little taller, it was a pleasant feeling to be believed. He was determined to help the Doctor if he could. Even if all this was bewildering and frightening. He wanted to explain it all to her, the Doctor was right, it had come to them, maybe not in a ship like he said unless you could have ships in the stars which given what he’d seen he’d believe just about anything today.

Mistress Jane didn’t believe him but that was alright. The Doctor did and really, would he have believed him if he’d not seen it? She said it was a myth but it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t.

Still, the Doctor was on his side, talking about where Malus had come from. From up in the stars if he followed him right. Which, yes, of course it had. It came in a star that fell to earth. He’d tell them if they asked but he didn’t really want to interrupt. They used far too many big words and his Dad had always taught him to be polite round gentle folk. The Doctor would explain it all to her, she’d understand eventually. She seemed clever. And kind.

The familiar cold came rolling in all of a sudden, as soon as the Doctor explained where it had come from and that fact it ent left. He was right o’course. He’d seen it, he knew it. Like he knew something bad was coming with the cold. The hairs started to rise on the back of his neck. He drew away from the wall as Mistress Jane commented on the crack that had appeared in the wall. There was something evil there. Something evil for sure.

The crack in the wall widened to the point it started to give way almost immediately. Will leapt back with Mistress Jane, there was no good to be found behind that wall. He tried to warn the Doctor.

“Don’t touch it!” The boy cried.

“He’s right Doctor! There’s suddenly a very strange atmosphere in here!” agreed Jane, drawing her cardigan around her more closely.

To Will’s utter horror the Doctor started pulling away at the wall.

The madman called to them to look closer, Will was having absolutely none of it.

“No!” Will didn’t move an inch, all he could see was the depths of the monster behind. He’d seen those eyes before; he knew the face that was hiding in the stone and he didn’t want to get a single step closer. He wanted to run but he couldn’t leave the Doctor or Mistress Jane. Rooted in terror he watched the Doctor get closer and closer until the face of Malus was on him, engulfing him in a miasma of hate, Mistress Jane was screaming his name and all Will could do was stand, horrorstruck, watching the end of the Doctor.

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